


Circular Coffee

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Tumblr, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is a  writer and <a href="http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/6367.html?thread=5575647#t5575647"> king of tumblr</a>. Chris is an avid reader.</p><p>More importantly, there is a witch who wants to give them third degree burns with coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circular Coffee

Peter isn’t stupid.

That is to say, he notices things. Things that make him paranoid and wary.

One of those things is when someone sidles up next to him.

Okay, if he’s going to be perfectly honest, that’s not actually that big a deal. You see, he only worries when the person is a little too calm and a little too smooth. People aren’t calm around him; even those who can fake calm around him can’t do it perfectly well and he knows.  But those who are, those who might not know what lurks under his skin, he is cautious of.

Because he’s been on the internet and he’s noticed patterns. Patterns.

That is… bad slash fiction patterns.

Peter wants to cringe at the thought of even explaining that but he doesn’t because he’s a smart guy and understands that not everyone is a paranoid psychopath like he is.

Or at least have several brain cells to rub together.

In any case, he is wary because they all follow the same script. They ask to sit down near him or just kind of hover and observe whatever it is he’s doing. Sometimes it’s creepy. Sometimes it’s flattering. Most of the time it’s distracting. Then, they start doing the “wonder” look and start making remarks about how skilled he is or something else flattering. At that point he politely says thank you and walks away because he is not sitting alone and letting some random person start doing the whole “I’ve kind of been watching you like a creeper and now want to say hi and take photos of you while pretending to text” act.

Even Peter is not as creepy as some of these folks.

And he’s a werewolf that skulks around.

A lot.

Then there are those that keep trying to spill coffee on him. He’s extra vigilant when it comes to those. So vigilant that he has recruited the barista at his favorite coffee shop, The Coffee Press, into the effort. She starts making his drink as soon as he texts her saying that he is a block away and she warns him, in return, of people getting drinks and what to expect crowd wise.

It’s usually a thin crowd but without a doubt, there is one person with a hot drink walking away from the counter or out the door that he has to dance around. Every single time they still manage to spill their coffee. Every single time, his werewolf reflexes prevent him from getting soaked. He then makes a beeline to the register, pays, picks up his drink, and hurries home. Getting out is easier, if he minds the door and keeps his senses active.

Really, though, it’s exhausting and he’s tired of it. He also wants to sit at this favorite table, which has a view of all three exists and places him in close reach of an unsuspecting hostage should Hunters roll through, and finish his novel in white noise rather than no noise.

* * *

He sighed as he drank his coffee and missed the Clover that would never fit in his kitchen. The brew that machine made with the right blend was a thing of majesty and wonder and he was very happy to love it. That and he’d have to kill a man to get one.

His screen flickered and box appeared in the corner of the screen. He clicked to open the feed he’d gotten Danny (smart kid, less than legal morals) to hack and wire him into.

Chris Argent. Fabulous.

Peter fired up the super-senses and got ready to deal with whatever magical disaster his niblings had gotten into. Laura and Derek had always attracted trouble. Especially when Laura was involved because he had tried to explain to her (and Erica) and using werewolf powers to fight bullies did not count as a good deed when one became the bully, but she (like Erica) never really listened.

Chris was at his door a few seconds after Peter cut the feed and started saving his files. As the last one saved and closed, Peter got up to open his door.

His feet registered the change between hardwood and concrete as he stepped up onto the three inch ledge that led to his door. (He’d seen a house with that step once and the owner told him that people always slipped and injured themselves on the step. He’d taken that into account when he bought the house.) The change was always a little strange, even though he walked across the threshold on a daily basis. Peter suspected it had to do with the fact that his feet had always been a little sensitive.

Chris Argent was a little worse for the wear since the last time Peter had seen him, about a month ago. The man’s stubble was a little more visible and he looked ill rested. His clothes smelled of the forest, home, and Chris. Not laundered recently, Peter guessed, since he couldn’t smell the faint scents of laundry soap. All pointed to some disturbance in Chris’ life.

 Peter didn’t really care about where or what the hunter did since he didn’t bother Peter. However, Chris had been keeping tabs on Peter, if the fact there was another person on his building’s security system was any indication. And so, he felt inclined to ask, and hunt down the rest.

“To what pleasure do I owe this visit?”

Chris pushed past him with a huff and a smattering of dust. Peter sighed.

“You could at least wipe your shoes…”

And presently the hunter tripped on the step down to the hardwood.

“And watch your step.”

Chris twisted around to glare at him and, okay, he wasn’t actually going to warn the hunter but plausible deniability is totally important in not getting killed. Especially when said hunter almost face-planted into the floor.

Chris seems to look a little guilty about the dust, even if it is just a little dust that won’t really make a difference to weekly cleaning Peter has scheduled for tomorrow, but it’s nice to think the hunter cares a little bit for his frankly fantastic home.

“Sorry to disturb you, Hale. But, we have a situation.” Chris was adamantly not looking at him, which was disappointing because what are workouts good for if not to build muscles that are to be looked at and appreciated?

Instead, he dryly muttered, “I gathered from the dust and storming.”

Chris looked down and finally at Peter, though not in the eye. The line of vision stopped at the flat planes of his stomach. No shirt on, very good outcome. “It has nothing to do with dust.”

“Oh? So no magical sex bomb?” He’s sassy Uncle Peter of the sex advice. He’s allowed to do whatever the hell he wants.

And a grimace. An actual grimace Peter thought he would have to break out the non-kinky handcuffs, and electrocution gear he confiscated a few months ago, for. It only felt better because he was right.

“Was it a fairy?” It’s almost always fairies. Those damned little flies from hell were the bane of his existence and probably the only reason Chris Argent would visit Peter Hale on a Wednesday afternoon. The other reason would be that people died. And Peter lived by the general rule that if there was no blood to clean up, there was very little chargeable death involved.

“No.” Chris looked almost flustered. “I don’t think so.”

Peter feels his eyes widen without his consent, before he snaps back to his façade of indifference. “You don’t think so?” He plasters on a little amusement. “How very quaint. You think my time is cheap?”

Chris narrows his eyes and straightens his shoulders. “No, I figured you would know most about it, considering how local magic seems to be your forte.”

“True.” Peter wandered past Chris, motioning the man to follow to the living room. He gestured for the hunter to defile one of his chairs and placed himself on the loveseat, sprawled elegantly if he did say so himself.

“Speak and you will be heard.” Chris gave him a once over before rolling his eyes.

“So about three weeks ago, this girl spills coffee on me. No big deal. I tell her to move on and that jeans aren’t worth the cost of dry cleaning”

Peter wants to say otherwise about his jeans because Peter is wearing Prada. It kind of stunned him when Stiles showed up to Christmas with ridiculous Prada jeans as a gift, but Peter rather likes them now. They fit like a sexy, sexy glove.

Chris goes on, completely unaware. “And I think that the third degree burns aren’t that bad, been through worse. Then, it keeps happening. I’m actually wearing the third pair of jeans today. Allison’s complaining about the laundry and the drought, which I don’t really care about, but it makes her, well, really unhappy is an understatement.”

Peter doesn’t really care about the drought either. He’s more worried that the naiads are going revolt and dryads will follow. Wild fires are a problem.

“And…” He presses.

“One of them touched my crotch.” And nothing stops Peter from curling his lips in a twist that looks like a smile.

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

Chris’s eyes sharpen in a quick narrow, hard and angry. “He was on the other side of the shop one moment and at my side with a napkin the next. Peter, I don’t think you get it. That barista’s been looking at me like I’m a donut and he’s on the Biggest Loser since I walked in.”

Wow, even when flustered, Chris Argent managed to pull a pop culture reference of apt description out of his ass. And Peter was supposed to be the writer here.

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

Chris looked even more annoyed if possible and Peter is really just pressing his luck here. “He’s the same age as Allison.”

“Lydia’s the same age as Allison and she’s making wonderful choices with her sex life.”

True. He’s very proud of Lydia for taking owning up to her sexuality and enjoying all that it had to offer. Sure, he could do without the strange looks he gets when he shows up at the door step of homes belonging to people he doesn’t know with boxes of condoms and a warning about safe sex, but it’s worth it to see her thoroughly enjoying her life. He could use less graphic detail though, when she reports to him the morning after for breakfast and coffee.

Chris just made a frustrated noise, cut off abruptly when he realized it’s not going to do him any good so he should just save his breath. “Maybe I have principles about the whole thing.”

“Allison is over eighteen.” And what an eighteenth birthday that had been. Peter had bought a gift card to Amazon so she could by herself a new library for college.

“And I still have principles.” Chris looked like he’s trying to explain something to a child and Peter is going to hold this image in his mind the next time he writes someone frustrated. “Why are you trying to get me the shack up with the barista?”

“I thought that was the problem?”

Chris leaned back into the chair breathing deeply for a moment. The heart rate was a little elevated, like when he felt a mild need to slap someone. Peter was purposefully being obtuse to mess with him, he realized finally. “Peter, I’ve been switching up patterns and visiting different shops. It still happens. It’s magic.”

Peter shrugged. “Or people are just struck stupid by your beauty.”

“Don’t you sass me.” That wasn’t actually wasn’t supposed to be sass, but alright Argent whatever helped him sleep at night.

Peter thought a little on the problem and it sounded like his little Coffee Press fiascoes, though more tailored to the hunter personality.

“Give me a moment. There’s warm coffee in the pot if you want it and Netflix on the tv. Go crazy.”

Chris got this hopeful look on his face as Peter left, phone in hand; he was probably expecting Deaton or the like. Making his way over to the kitchen, Peter pulled out his phone and tried calling Derek. His nephew picked up on the fourth ring.

“What?” Ah, grumpy wolf.

“Has anyone tried to spill coffee on you or your boy toy?”

He could imagine the disgruntled look on his nephew’s face. The kid had probably been moping around outside the college or sulking like a sparkly vampire in he woods. He might have been sitting in his favorite grumpy tree. Peter didn’t try to understand youthful angst.

“No. Stiles doesn’t drink coffee and I make my coffee at home.”

“But he has to get his caffeine from somewhere.”

“I bring it to him. No spilling. No people.”

“You really are misanthropic.”

Derek hung up on him. Peter actually deserved that one. He rang up the others, even Stiles who texted him back and told him that Derek was the caffeine drug lord of Beacon Hills, and got the same report. No coffee, nothing strange. No weirdness going on. Peter felt the fringes of his ideas weaving together and he didn’t like the sound of it.

He rang up the Sheriff and oh, there was a match.

“Melissa’s the one facing the issue though. She’s got Scott doing all the laundry now.” Warm laundry fresh out of the dryer. Peter understood that animalistic desire to sleep in a laundry basket very well. “And there’s the drought and everything. Why are you asking?”

“It might be magic.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Is it the kanima?”

Peter smirked a little. “John, I think we need to have a chat sometime about what magic actually is. How about dinner?”

“None of that fancy, healthy stuff, Hale. Swing by Friday. The kids are going out for a movie.” Chris shifted in his chair and if Peter didn’t know better he would have thought the hunter wasn’t really watching HGTV channel reruns and could hear what he was saying.

Peter went back to his conversation, storing that away for later analysis. “I won’t tell Stiles if you order a veggie pizza.”

“Damn you. You take the fun out of everything.” And that was the end of that. Peter crossed the marble and wood tile pattern that was prevalent in the mixed flooring of his home.

Chris, still alert and not drinking any of the “not all that great but still just decent” coffee, looked up as Peter walked in.  “Any luck?”

“Melissa is facing the same problem and I’m not sure I want to explain this to you.” More honest than he would like, but it worked. Peter flopped on his couch again and look a long drink from his still mostly warm coffee.

Chris rolled his eyes and turned back to the television. “Please, calm your sturm und drang, Hamlet. I don’t have all day.”

Peter smothered his laugh. “Mixed literary references. I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Chris clicked the television off with the remote and turned to Peter, briefing face on and ready to deal with the madness. “What’s making people fall for me?”

Peter blinked, momentarily flat footed. “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. Though, I’ll have to give you a little more back ground.”

Peter settled into story teller mode and readied to tell some of the more embarrassing aspects of his career. “As you understand, after the fire, the Hale Pack moved to New York. While there, I picked up a publishing deal and I’m a rather popular and prolific writer now, under a pseudonym of course.”

“You still won’t tell me.” And Peter never would because Chris brought his books, even the old ones that no one really knew about or liked, to every stake out and each one smelled like aconitum and was worn with love and tender care. He was cruel, but he wouldn’t take Ian Bohen from Chris. He couldn’t.

“When you’re ready for my genius. After my first series took off, I started following the fans and tried to see their perspective on the books. Call it vanity, but I wanted to know what part they liked the most. It turned out that they rather wanted to see two male characters in love. Not the main character, but the background ones who were, according to them, meant to be. I found that they wrote their own takes on my work in something called fanfiction, mostly bad but some talented stuff, and that is how I learned about gay shipping.”

“Shipping.” Chris gave him a confused and dubious look and smelled the same.

“Relation-shipping.”

Chris furrowed his brows and thought a moment. “Okay.”

“Good, it gets stranger. The porn is prevalent, mind you, and creative too, but that’s not the interesting part. They write these little things called alternate universes, where anything is possible. There are ones where everyone is a magical creature, ones where everyone is human, the zombie apocalypse, all nine yards; some stories are as long as one of my novels. One of them is called a coffee shop AU.”

Chris developed this look of horror on his face like he sort of knew what was happening. “It’s where one of the characters becomes a barista or something of the like. Then, they fall in love and everything is, to quote, ‘fucking rainbows and sunshine’. Not quite our problem, but similar.”

Peter breathed deeply. “In a subcategory of trope, or cliché really, people spill coffee on each other and fall in love.”

If Chris was horrified, he his hid his terror well, Peter couldn’t hear it in the heart beat or smell it on him.

“And that’s your explanation?” The hunter looked unimpressed even.

Peter stretched a little. Minimalist furniture was good for stretching on. “I’ve thought about this for weeks, Argent. You aren’t the only one who has had to do extra laundry.”

Wolfy super senses could only do so much.

The hunter smelled displeased, a slightly acrid tang to the rich nutty smell that usually wafted of him. “I don’t suppose you happen to know one of them?”

“Word of god, yes. Especially since I am god.” Chris smelled even more of displeasure, like he didn’t even want to understand the little cultural aspects of the fandom.

Peter powered on his computer. “They call the author that, ‘god’ of the particular universe they created. In any case, I am tumblr famous and I will ask.”

“Tumblr?”

“A social networking site for geeks. None of them know who I am, and I am loved by almost everyone. I have an official blog of course, but it isn’t as fun as my personal one. Crowd sourcing is the future, my beloved luddite.”

He quickly typed in a post, somewhat formal and a little crazy as was his persona, but it made sense and people would respond. People loved to respond. The first note was from Stiles and, oh, wasn’t that boy supposed to be in class? Naughty.

“5+1 where Jeremy and Rick are getting coffee poured on them and they keep deflecting. Until one day, Jeremy kisses Rick after a girl almost pours coffee on them both (Rick uses his super vampy powers to save them and the iced caramel concoction.) and the sexytimes happens and people stop trying to pour coffee on them.” Edited to not scare the hunter.

It was a link to a short fanfiction that would later, as Peter knew, turn into a multi-chaptered wonder of hilarity. Peter wanted to laugh. That was why Stiles was his favorite, fan and pack member.

He kept refreshing the page and watched as people reblogged with more and more commentary. Oh, look, 75 notes already. There was a lot being thrown around and he loved it. Most of it was fanfiction and a few demands that he write it. He redirected those to Stiles’ WIP on AO3 and kept looking. A little one appeared over his inbox.

An anonymous message: “Stop by 293 Elm Street after nine tonight. Knock on the door.”

Chris read the smile on Peter’s face and got up to snatch the keys from the pineapple-shaped tray by the door.

“I’m driving.”

Peter winked at him, stuffing a pair of shoes on his feet. He breezed past with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Whatever floats your boat, babe. We’re having dinner first.”

* * *

Chris smelled confused, a mix of nutty hesitation and bitter insecurity. Peter inhaled deeply and let it mix with the rich, layered scent of coffee. It was after nine p.m. on Elm Street and no one wandered the streets then. The Coffee Press sat cold and empty in appearance only. Peter strained and heard a heartbeat like a jackhammer in the back.

He padded to the door and knocked, sharp and crisp on the wood. The small sound resounded and amplified on the empty street until the air filled with a dull tone. Chris followed closely. His gun was in his in hand with the safety off.

A single figure, small and unassuming, waded through the dim light of the shop. A girl with dark hair and eyes slunk to the door. The girl eyed them both through the glass before unlocking the door and ushered them inside silently.

Peter recognized her. She was the barista that always made his coffee. When the shop was slow, she would read his novels or play on her phone. She always smiled knowingly at him and asked him to sign the books once. Apparently he didn’t hide his screen as well as he thought he did. Normally, she was as smooth and warm as the coffee she made, but now she looked like she hadn’t slept.

She smelled like magic. It coursed thinly under her skin and swirled in her core. She smelled like Stiles after a spell, ozone and winter. A witch or druid, not a spark or emissary. She glanced nervously at Chris and her heartbeat told all. 

“He only bites if you ask politely.” He felt a twitch in his cheek, the faint touch of a smile, when she turned to him wide eyed.

“Mr. Hale.” Peter pressed hand over Chris’s, an order to stand down.

“Julia, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

She nodded and produced a napkin from her pocket. “I didn’t think much of it, but I found this the other day. Remember that woman who almost spilled coffee on you?”

“Yes.” At his answer she looked more confident, stood straighter and calmed visibly. He wondered for a moment what would make a witch look so hunted, especially when it appeared she hadn’t the magical capacity to a target worth hunting.

“She was a witch.” Julia gestured them over to a table, the chairs hadn’t been pulled up on that specific one. “And, this is the spell she used. I tried to snap it when I realized what it was, but it didn’t work.”

Peter glanced over at Chris, then back to her. “You tried?”

She nodded. “Yeah, this is a rare kind of spell, a paper one that’s activated by moisture. Very smart and very cool. See this curve? The line is a binding to this location.” She pointed to another curve, with a language Peter couldn’t read scribbled next to it. “This is an invocation of love; the one next to it is a trigger. It says a fall, but I guess it means the spilling of coffee. This one has your name on it, but it’s a very loose hold. I guess she didn’t really know you, just of you. That’s why your friend is stuck with it too. The circle in the center is the activation key.”

Peter lifted the paper to his nose and smelled the French roast coffee that, now that he thought about it, was the common denominator of people spilling on him.

Julia pointed to the first line she named. “I thought breaking that would snap the spell, but apparently it is a lot more complex than that.”

She flushed a little. Probably thinking about how the spell no longer applied just in her shop, but followed the victim across the town. “That might have made it worse actually.”

Chris, who had been silent the entire time, sighed. “It did.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Peter examined the spell. Not bad, he thought, to have another thing to look into. “I think we can take over from here. I do have a few questions though.”

Chris looked over the twenty-something like she was a bomb he had to disarm and muttered, “Same.”

She glared at Chris and Peter remembered why he had signed her book. “Like what?”

“Where you learned all this and why I didn’t know about it.”

Julia tugged on the collar of her sweater. “I grew up in the coven that invented these. I didn’t have enough magic to be worth the training though. My mom exiled me when I was eighteen.”

She gestured to the shop and the sign that said they had been around since the Second World War. “I found my dad and I stayed.”

“The name of the coven?” Chris looked mildly interested and Peter had to admit he was too. Covens didn’t just train and exile.

“Bella Muerta based out of Calipatria.” Chris paled and Peter surmised that he’d remembered a hunt in Anaheim, maybe even a dark haired and dark eyed child who couldn’t do magic to save herself. Peter felt a little disgust. The witches of Bella Muerta had a reputation for being deadly and unforgiving. Being exiled didn’t mean you walked away; it meant you were supposed to be dead.

“Do you know how the woman could have gotten the spell?” Peter remembered the woman now. She had blonde hair and red lip stick. She reminded him of Erica, but less leather and more pantsuit. Also, not as great a conversationalist.

“I don’t remember her from the coven. I guess she might be from a radical splinter cell or something.” The Bella Muerta with an eviler subgroup? Absolutely fantastic.

“Thank you, Julia. Call me if you see anything magical going on next time.” Chris reached out to shake her hand, slipping the business card to his hunting store with it. She shook, took, and got up to open the door for them.

She gave them both a weak smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Peter smiled. “It will.”

* * *

Stiles paced around his room, looking over the napkin. “What is this? Gallifreyan?”

Peter breathed deeply. Chris let out a small laugh. Derek looked chuffed.

Peter repeated what he had learned. “It’s a circular spell. Apparently something invented out of Calipatria.”

Stiles stared at him blankly. “Where in hell is that?”

“Southern California.” He’d googled it on the drive to the Sheriff’s house. Chris had been silent the entire time. 

Stiles ran his hands through his hair and grumbled, “These are the days I regret we didn’t become two states.”

Derek squinted in thought and asked, “What?”

“1859. Pico Act.” Peter remembered reading about that in school. It was one of those things, like California wanting to secede from the union at some undetermined point in history, that no one really cared about but found interesting nonetheless.

“Did she offer any more information?” Peter recalled the conversation they had earlier when he had patiently explained, actually Chris had done that part, the intricacies of the spell.

“No.” Stiles growled a little at the napkin and Peter wondered if he might be picking up habits from Derek; in which case, his nephew was then proven to be a bad influence and Peter would lose all his parenting stars.

“You can ask her if you want.” Chris had his iPhone in hand and appeared to be scrolling through something. “She texted me while I was driving.”

“You didn’t tell me this earlier?” Stiles made grabby hands for the phone.

“I thought you would figure it out.” Chris handed the phone to Stiles and the wolves felt their ears perk up at the sound of a female voice on the line.

“I am not Lydia. She is a daughter of Athena and will never be stopped.” Stiles took the phone and asked, “Can you give me directions to the local Olive Garden?”

The response was filled with mirth. “I can give you directions to a real Italian restaurant. By the way, I like your shoelaces.”

Stiles grinned widely. “Thanks. I stole them from the president.”

Peter groaned internally. Leave it to Stiles to find another tumblr user in a crisis. Stiles grinned even wider at whatever she said and turned to Peter with a knowing look in his eye.

Stiles turned back to the napkin and started reading it intently. “Julia, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

* * *

Of course, Derek would be the one fussing over it. Fail wolf wouldn’t make a move if it killed him.

“Derek, you love the idiot. Go ask him out and you two can be idiots together.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yes, it is. Why were you here anyway?”

“Stiles wanted to play videogames.”

“Derek.”

“He plays with Scott all the time.”

“There was no console in his room. Chris and I found you two cuddling on the bed. He glared at me when you got out of bed. He glared.”

“He glares at you all the time.”

“It was a Derek related glare, fail wolf.”

“Stop calling me that. Who calls me that?”

“People.”

“Who?”

“My people. Shut up, Derek, I have people.”

Stiles shouted from his place at his desk. “Will you two stop doing the whole growly thing over there? I’m trying to concentrate.” A pause. “Magic bros five ever, Julia. Five ever. ”

Chris stifled a laugh and Peter raised a brow. “You are doomed, Peter.”

“I got that with the first shit-eating grin, thanks.”

“I think I got it. Derek, mind going downstairs and pouring two cups of the coffee you brought? Cold preferably.”

Derek, mild confusion in his eyes, nodded before getting off his chair and stomping down the stairs like a small herd of elephants.

Stiles hung up and turned to Chris and Peter.

“I recommend you strip out of anything you don’t want stained and get in the shower.”

* * *

“Stiles.” John Stilinski, fresh off the night shift, stared at the number of cups in the restroom. “What is this?”

“Spell breaking. Melissa should be fine.” Peter appeared around the corner, shirtless and drying his head with a towel. He smelled like coffee.

Stiles and Derek followed closely behind and Peter saw the Sheriff give his son a questioning look.

“A witch tried to make Peter fall in love with her, but it back-splashed his friends who went to the same coffee shop and I made a new friend. Julia and I are going to be magic bros.”

The Sheriff looked to Peter for explanation. “Pretty much.”

“Hales, Stiles, Argent in the closet, clean this up.” The sheriff padded to his room and within minutes the three in the hall heard snoring.

“Argent?”

Chris slipped out of the hall closet, where he had been changing. He gave the crowd an unimpressed look. “Pun not intended.”

Peter gave a dramatic sigh, before wandering back into the guest room.

“Way to crush a boy’s dreams.”

* * *

Julia leaned on the counter and watched as Chris Argent gave the blonde woman a talking to through the window. Chris’ daughter’s boyfriend, Isaac, stood by her side making another latte.

“Is he always like that?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty territorial.” The blonde woman stomped away and Chris looked a little pleased with himself.

Julia turned to see Peter in the corner, staring out the window much like she was, but eyes darker and a palatable air of danger around him.

“Is that normal too?” Peter didn’t even note her words. Julia felt slightly unsettled by the fact he didn’t even blink.

“Eh, recent development.” Isaac shrugged. “I just wish they would get on with it.”

Julia looked between the two and exhaled. “Oh.”

* * *

Somehow, after the whole, almost naked and soaked in coffee incident, they didn’t hate each other. The really couldn’t hate each other. When Peter heard the hunter enter the study, he knew Chris didn’t have his gun drawn, didn’t even have his gun on him. It was a norm.

The hunter smirked at the sight that met his eyes and said, “I finally figured it out.”

Peter looked up from where he was playing with a Rubik’s cube and spinning in Chris’ desk chair. “What?”

“Ian Bohen.” Peter stilled; the chair no longer squeaked. He tried to level his voice.

“I’m not sorry.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” Chris pulled a worn book off the shelf, and another and another. The pile built up on the desk.

“I’d love to have you sign them.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the stack. That was everything. Every single one. Some in multiple copies. Some dropped in water, stained with tea or coffee, battered, broken, and well loved.

“Argent, I didn’t know you were a fan.” He did. He did and his heart leaped a little at the knowledge that there was more than one copy of his horrible western because that was proof of love right there.

The man shrugged, handing him a pen. “I like good writers.”

Peter thought about denying the request, but a small part of him said to go for it. He slipped into signing mode and imagined he was looking at the typed messages people requested through his website. He opened the first on the pile, one of his “Hunted” novels and asked, “What do you want me to write?”

Chris sat on the edge of the desk, looking into space. He hummed to himself, trying on words for size before settling.

“To the real Jeremy Hale. Let’s get dinner. Love, Ian.”

Peter smirked over the top of the book.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sign that elsewhere?”

**Author's Note:**

> Jeremy Hale and Richard Eldridge are characters portrayed by J.R. Bourne and Ian Bohen, respectively, in the Mentalist. I poked through the filmography and found the common denominator. 
> 
> I head canon that he was never burned in the fire and used Laura and Derek as his anchors. They moved to New York where he got his book deal and everything was peachy after that. When stuff started going down in Beacon Hills, Deaton called him and the pack home. They decided to move back. Laura works at the attorney’s office. Derek is doing graduate school for a degree in history while overseeing the reconstruction of the Hale mansion. Peter writes and decided that getting his own house was a good idea. I set Beacon Hills closer to San Francisco than Sacramento because the phone codes in the show are for the area and I am more familiar with the general weather and culture in San Francisco.
> 
> In the “Hunted” series, Jeremy Hale is an American hunter who had a torrid love affair with Rick Eldridge, a vampire, when they were younger. Asara Rhoden, a newly formed vampire and his niece. The fae mage Wróżka, call him Dylan, takes particular interest in Tyler Lovec, werewolf. Asara falls for Crystal Mahila, a gorgeous African American girl.
> 
> Asara, Crystal, Dylan, and Tyler are the main characters. The supporting cast is almost entirely female. There is an assorted cast of female characters because Peter is all about writing lesbian mermaid swimmers and bisexual Valkyrie bikers and transgender dryad lawyers and asexual siren actors. Also, because he went on tumblr and was forever converted. 
> 
> After meeting Kira, Peter decided that adding Yuemei Zhang, a Chinese water dragon, as a recurring character was a great idea.
> 
> I have a more detailed head canon, but I thought the short edition was more appropriate.


End file.
